“We’re going to do it,” Tomer said. “He has them by the power cables. They have to accept. We’re going to win.”
“Yes, we are.” Wedge smiled at him. It was easy to do so. All he had to do was imagine the man’s fate.
“I was delighted when I heard that you and your pilots had survived the gauntlet, and then the rumors that you’d made it outside Cartann…”
“I imagine you were.”
“And this raid!” Tomer gestured expansively. “More successful than you imagined, I’ll bet.”
“No, it’s right on the money so far. But give it time. I predict that it will get even better.”
Tomer’s expression lost some of its glee, becoming more uncertain. “How so?”
The two flatscreens flashed back into activity. As before, Escalion of Yedagon dominated one of them, and it was he who spoke. “Perator Balass, much as we think Cartann should shoulder the major share of loss for the brief war we have suffered, you are correct. Everyone’s circumstances have changed, and no one has time for even the most honorable prosecution. We offer Cartann a seat, a full vote, a full voice in what we now call the Adumari Union.”
“I accept.” Balass bowed to Escalion, then turned and bowed to the viewers on the other flatscreen. “Who will speak for us to the New Republic?”
Escalion said, “I think we would accept none other than General Antilles.”
Wedge cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I can’t. Your elected speaker will be talking with me. I still have my duties as ambassador of the New Republic.”
“Then we will choose from among ourselves,” Escalion said.
As the perators and their advisors from around Adumar began a spirited—and, Wedge hoped, brief—discussion, Wedge turned to Tomer. “Tycho?”
Wedge drew his blaster, put its point up under Tomer’s chin. Tycho drew in the same moment, putting his barrel to Tomer’s left eye; the diplomat had to close his eye to keep it from being hurt.
“What is this?” Tomer asked. His tone was calm, even unconcerned. Wedge was impressed with his poise.
“It’s time for you to call Allegiance and tell them to acknowledge and accept transmissions from all New Republic personnel and citizens on the ground,” Wedge said.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“And if you don’t do it, we’re going to hand you over to these Halbegardian guards. They’ll conduct you back to Halbegardia or the Yedagon Confederacy. They’ll put you on trial as a war criminal based on what I have to tell them about your interaction with Pekaelic. I doubt you can expect much mercy at their hands. On the other hand, comply and I’ll turn you over to the New Republic for prosecution. Assuming neither Tycho nor I has a spasm and blows your head off.”
Tomer heaved a sigh. “I admit nothing,” he said. But he drew out a comlink. “Tomer Darpen to Allegiance, come in.”
There was no answer. Tomer shrugged, an “I told you so” expression.
Wedge smiled at him. “Repeat after me. ‘En-Are-Eye-One to Allegiance. Over.’”
Tomer looked at him, expressionless, his one open eye flickering as if reading through a list of hints to find the one that would get him out of this situation. Finally he said, “En-Are-Eye-One to Allegiance. Over.”
“Allegiance to En-Are-Eye-One, we read you.”
Wedge just stared.
“I rescind the order concerning communications from the ground. You are authorized to respond to transmissions from Adumar.”
“Rescind the comm blackout as well,” Wedge said.
Tomer sighed. “Likewise, I rescind Allegiance’s hypercomm restrictions.” He covered the microphone with his hand. “Is that all? Or should I have them send down a meal?”
“That’s all.”
Tomer removed his hand. “Acknowledge, please.”
The distant comm officer said, “Allegiance acknowledges. Captain Salaban would like to talk to you.”
Wedge took the comlink from Tomer’s hand and gave it to Tycho. “Colonel Celchu, do me a favor and arrange for this prisoner to be transported to Allegiance. Inform the Allegiance of our situation and have Salaban stand by to communicate by hypercomm with the Fleet Command and General Cracken. Then give those two parties a quick report.”
“Will do. What are you up to?”
“I’m going for a walk.” Wedge gestured all around. “I’m sick of this place.” He gave Tomer one last look. “You should have taken your chances with Adumari justice.”
Tomer just stared, impassive.
On the palace steps, Wedge found Admiral Rogriss being escorted between two Halbegardian guards. Sniper fire from the near balconies was all but over.
Wedge dismissed the guards and gave the older man a salute. “Admiral. Good to see you. How are you?”
Rogriss gave him a slow shake of the head. “How can anyone be when his career has just been vaporized?”
“Meaning that Agonizer has left system without sending its holocomm message.”
Rogriss nodded. “The holocomm is shut down and sealed tight. It can only be opened by my voice… or by the security codes of a superior officer. Which it won’t reach for another three days or so.”
“Will that matter? I mean, Imperial Intelligence could have a team on-planet, with its own holocomm unit…”
Rogriss shook his head. “Intelligence does have a team here. Good luck finding them; I won’t tell you how. But they don’t have a holocomm. You have the time you wanted… at the expense of my career.”
Wedge offered his hand. “For what it’s worth, you have my respect.”
Rogriss took it. “You’ll still get word to my children?”
“Yes.”
“Even if General Phennir shoots you down when the Imperial forces return?”
“So he did survive… Yes, even then. First thing, I’ll put together some orders concerning you that will be carried out in case of my death.”
“And even if I don’t come over to the New Republic?”
“Where would you go instead?”
Rogriss looked around. “I’ve spent considerable time lately planning how I was going to exploit the Adumari military weaknesses. Perhaps I can now show the Adumari where those weaknesses are, how to put armor over them. Perhaps they’d offer me a position here where I could do so.”
“I imagine they would. Either way, I’ll arrange to get word to your children.”
“Thank you.”
Chapter Fourteen
Wedge stood at the edge of the magcon field separating the atmosphere of Allegiance’s main starfighter bay from the vacuum of space beyond. Below, he could see Mon Casima, the Mon Calamari cruiser now assigned to the Adumar operation, less than two kilometers below. Other New Republic ships were out there, not visible to him but on-station—frigates, corvettes, aging cruisers that had once served the Empire or even the old Republic before it, as big a fleet as the New Republic could spare and assemble on such short notice. Not even Lusankya, the flagship—and sometimes only ship—of the task force Wedge normally commanded, would be present; in his absence, it had been dispatched on other duties.
The air was cold, as was common with starfighter bays in space; magcon fields were not good at retaining heat. The piercing noises of repulsorlifts being brought on-line cut through him, and the sound of engines being tested vibrated him to the bone.
To Wedge, it was almost like being at home.
Almost. From now on, he knew, home would be where he and Iella chose to be together—quarters on Coruscant with its overwhelming press of population, a small house on some grassy patch on an insignificant colony world, even Corellia, someday, if things changed in the way that system was governed.
But that was a problem to solve tomorrow or the day after that. For now, there was Adumar.
Cartann City and a number of smaller metropolises had been seriously damaged during the Adumari Union raid. Hundreds of Blades and other vehicles on both sides had been lost, and many brave pilots. Wedge ha
d been sorry to hear that Liak ke Mattino, captain of Strike the Moons Flightknife, who had risked his perator’s displeasure to give Red Flight a chance at escape, was among the dead, as were many of the pilots Wedge had trained against in the days before the outbreak of war.
The former perator was now hidden away on an estate somewhere within Cartann’s borders, formally protected by his son from prosecution at the hands of the Adumari Union Council. Many of the world’s other perators had protested, but Balass ke Teldan had stood fast by the terms he demanded for Cartann’s peaceful and quick admission into the union, so it appeared that Pekaelic would avoid prosecution for his poor judgment and autocratic politics.
That would not be the case with Tomer Darpen. The onetime regional head of New Republic Intelligence was safely locked away in prison quarters, plotting his trial defense, blissfully unaware of the recording Hallis had made of the conversation that would doom him.
Tomer’s temporary replacement would not be the detriment Tomer had been. Appointed by General Cracken, Iella Wessiri was now managing the New Republic’s Intelligence matters on Adumar with her usual efficiency.
“Are you sure you don’t want to direct your forces from Allegiance’s bridge?” Iella asked.
Wedge looked up, startled. Iella had appeared beside him, in deceptive clothing, a naval lieutenant’s uniform, and had joined Wedge in studying the skies beneath them.
Wedge looked around, saw that no one was near them, and affected surprise. “I’d swear you were talking to me. What an odd question to put to a pilot.”
Iella managed a little smile. “Sorry. Lost my head for a moment. You can’t blame me for trying.”
“No, I can’t.”
She put an arm around his waist, rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m proud of you,” she said.
“We haven’t won, yet.”
“Not for winning. For being willing to lose. For standing by your guns when the whole galaxy seemed to be arrayed against your decision.”
“That wasn’t fun. But when I was sure I was about to lose everything, and I discovered that I hadn’t lost you after all… that made it all livable.”
“But that leaves me with one big worry about the future.”
“That I’m still flying?”
He felt her shake her head. She said, “No, that you’re almost as stubborn as I am. I—”
Whatever her next words might have been, they were cut short by the single blare of an alarm, followed by words that echoed throughout the bay and, Wedge knew, throughout the ship: “Reconnaissance unit High Flight Three Beta reports arrival of Imperial vessels in Adumari space. Three repeat three Imperial-class Star Destroyers and numerous secondary vessels inbound. All personnel to battle stations. All pilots to muster stations.”
Wedge sighed. “That’s it.” He pulled her to him for a quick kiss.
“I can’t ask you to be safe,” she said.
He shook his head.
“So shoot straight. And faster than they do.”
“Count on it. I love you.”
“I love you.” She broke from him and hurried off to her station, casting one last look over her shoulder at him before she joined the personnel streaming out the exit and was gone.
They formed up a kilometer off Allegiance’s bow, an impressive fighter group: Wedge’s Red Flight, two shield-equipped TIE fighter squadrons, one slightly understrength A-wing squadron, a unit of B-wings, a Y-wing squadron, the High Flight X-wing unit off Allegiance, and three space-equipped Blade-32 flightknives from the planet’s surface—two from Yedagon and one from Cartann. They were 106 fighters in strength.
“Allegiance’s sensors show the enemy TIE squadrons issuing from the Star Destroyers,” Wedge said. “Fighters escorting bombers—a lot of bombers. They expect us to try to intercept with our fighters. Here’s how we’re going to play it instead.
“Our advance screen is Red Flight, High Flight Squadron, Lightflash Squad, and Contender and Skylight Squadrons.” That put the X-wings, A-wings, and TIE fighters at the fore of Wedge’s group. “The rest of you hang back in formation until we’re fully engaged and you can calculate where the action is thickest—and where the enemy is less likely to be able to break away to engage you. Approach by those vectors and unload everything you have on Agonizer.” That put the B-wings of Solar Wind Squadron, Y-wings of Remember Derra Squadron, and Blades of the Ice Edge, Frozen Death, and Sunwhip Flightknives behind on missiling duty. “You Blades remember to fire on the command of your flightknife commanders, in unison; your missiles lack the punch of proton torpedoes, so you’re going to have to land precisely timed mass fire if you’re going to do any harm to a Star Destroyer. Understood?”
He was answered by confirmations from each of the squadron commanders.
“All right. Let’s go.” He transmitted the intercept course to the group and vectored to lead the way to the enemy.
As his group formed up on him, he switched the comm board over to the main Adumari broadcast frequency. The two-dimensional image that was the continuous flatscreen broadcast filled his main screen. It showed an older man, a patch over one eye not quite concealing the scar that both rose and descended from his eye socket, addressing the flatcam.
“…continues to hold out against Adumari Union forces,” the man said. “Despite reports that Pekaelic’s forces decline in number every day, assaults by units of his informal force continue to occupy Union attention and slow the Union efforts to bring peace to Adumar. At sunrise, Yedagon time, this morning, units of the Cartannese Lords of Dismay Flightknife, now allied with the former perator, escorted a bombing raid that destroyed six residential blocks in Yedagon’s prestigious Accolux Township…”
Wedge switched it off. This was the third day of broadcasts that were, in essence, all lies. Scripted by Hallis Saper with the input of the Adumari Union’s military advisors, the broadcasts told the tale of the former perator, Pekaelic ke Teldan, still mounting a mighty struggle against the conquering Adumari Union, keeping war raging across all the civilized nations of Adumar. The public followed the news accounts keenly. The guerrilla warfare always took place in communities that could be, and were, shut off from the outer world by military occupation… meaning that Imperial Intelligence agents on the ground would have a hard time disproving them.
Meanwhile, the true Pekaelic rested in the Cartannese township his son had chosen for his exile, barely aware of the events that were being attributed to him. All he knew was that he had a broadcast to make and a script to follow when instructed to do so.
If all went as it was supposed to, the Empire’s Intelligence team or Adumar would have been recording all these transmissions for the last three days, analyzing them and interpreting them, but not discovering that they were all lies. Even now, they’d be transmitting their findings to the Imperial task force headed toward the planet. With luck, the task force would believe the accounts of a world still at war, its military might scattered.
Well before Wedge’s group spotted the enemy Star Destroyers, Allegiance reported that elements of the 181st Imperial Fighter Group, escorting numerous squadrons of TIE bombers, was descending into Cartann airspace. Blips representing other Imperial fighter units were also detected in descent.
And then the Star Destroyer formation came into view, Agonizer at the point, Retaliator and Master Stroke well behind, other, smaller vessels throughout the convoy. Wedge set his course straight for the flagship. “Pilots, arm your weapons. X-wings, S-foils to attack position. Squadron commanders, you are free for individual deployment.” He was not surprised to see the speed-happy A-wing pilots jump out ahead almost instantly. He switched to squadron frequency. “Red Flight, High Flight Squadron, call ’em as you see ’em.”
“Red One, High Flight Twelve. I detect incoming TIE fighters and Interceptors… and two wing pairs of TIE Defenders. They’ve left behind a pretty ferocious screen.”
Wedge grimaced. The TIE Defender was one of the best starfighters known. Equ
ipped with three sets of solar wing arrays, equally spaced around the spherical fuselage, instead of two, and outfitted with shields equal to an X-wing’s and weapons and speed superior to the X-wing, it was an extraordinary—and extraordinarily costly—starfighter. “Red Leader to Solar Wind Squadron. Solar Wind Seven through Twelve, move up to join the screen. We’re going to need your help with the TIE Defenders.”
“Acknowledged, Red Leader.”
Space ahead lit up like interplanetary fireworks as Agonizer’s turbolasers and ion cannons went active. That meant the A-wings had come within range. Seconds later, he spotted the first of the incoming TIE fighters—mere blips on his sensor board that materialized into fast-moving blurs in his forward viewport.
He linked his lasers for quad fire, giving them a harder punch but a slower cycle rate. “Break by pairs and fire at will,” he said.
The X-wings around him spread out, maintaining their course straight toward the incoming enemies. Head-to-head combat approaches were among the most dangerous tactics for starfighters, but they favored the shielded X-wings slightly over the unshielded TIEs.
On the heads-up display projected onto his forward viewport, Wedge’s yellow targeting brackets tracked an incoming TIE Interceptor, the brackets trailing slightly behind the vehicle’s lateral evasive movements. He sent his X-wing into the juking and jinking maneuvers that made it a more difficult target and manually swept his targeting brackets across the path he suspected the TIE would take next. His suspicion was right; the TIE dove straight through the path his brackets were tracing and the brackets went green. Wedge fired. He was rewarded only with a graze as one of his lasers charred the Interceptor’s starboard solar wing black. The TIE veered off its intended course, away from Wedge and the X-wings.
Incoming green lasers matched outgoing red ones in number and intensity, and Wedge saw, in his peripheral vision, one of the High Flight X-wings explode, leaving only burning gas and rapidly cooking shrapnel behind.
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